Never Too Late
by Louis de Pointe du Lac
Summary: Draco finds solace in the form of a mysterious room and the magical mirror it insulates, a mirror that shows him what is untrue yet attainable enough, manhood. Enter Harry, Ron and Hermione. HP/DM slash but not really.
1. Worthwhile Regrets, Shafts of Hope

Never Too Late  
  
By: Catnip  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own nothin'.  
  
A/N: I didn't put much on the details! Me hope you people no mind. I got lazy… Hehe… Well, me hope you like. OOH! Send me reviews after you've read! I like reviews, I need criticism, really bad.  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter 1: Worthwhile Regrets, Shafts of Hope  
  
"I care for you, Hermione."  
  
The devastating sound of thunder had unmercifully drowned out Harry's soft whisper; Hermione couldn't hear. She could only hear the rhythmic pitter- patter of the summer rain, as she gazed out the glass window and into the soaking dimensions of the outside world. She could not believe that only a few moments ago, the world had seemed such a perfect place, with the sun shining above the azure sky with an everlasting light that pried open the depths of her soul, but the rain… The rain seemed to encompass her into its watery paradise, assailing the precious sunlight, and allowing her to feel the inner depths of her emotions that the sun had the habit of blocking from her view.  
  
Right now, she felt… light-headed, giddy, like a young girl would if she was in love. If she was in love… which was the problem, because… she was. With who? She wasn't entirely sure. She snapped back into reality at the last instant, when Harry, feeling unwanted, began to turn away.  
  
"W- what did you say, Harry?" she called, more out of politeness than out of interest.  
  
Harry, tilted his head to the side, and gave her a tiny smile. When he spoke, it was with absolute sincerity. "Nothing," he told her. "I was only leaving."  
  
Hermione regarded him with indifference, but smiled. "Take care, Harry."  
  
He gave only a nod, then strode away. Despite the further protests of Hermione's parents, Harry, garbed in his robes, moved into the dreary rain.  
  
Hermione, still smiling, looked back into the dismal array of clouds. And there, she lost her smile.  
  
Beyond the house, Harry faced the same clouds, tasting the chill of the howling wind, reveling in the rain's moistened awareness. Wholeheartedly, he felt the squall's gloomy countenance resemble his own as he stood silently amidst the falling rain. As of the moment, he could feel nothing more than the deep pit of depression open up before him, swallowing him up into its endless abyss, into the abyss of regret.  
  
The doors of hope had begun to close before he had even noticed, and now, they would no longer open up to him.  
  
He had lost her…  
  
He had come to her too late.  
  
Harry braced himself indignantly, regaining little of his lost pride. With his back set up straight, and his eyes searching the far reaches of the horizon, he walked away, to wander off into the distant road that lay ahead. Behind him, the clouds parted --- ever so slightly --- and a beam of light shone from where he stood.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco clutched his hand close to his chest, his other hand braced against the windowpane. Beside the door, Lucius watched him, as the sound of the sword clattering towards the floor from his son's hand was drowned by the heavy downpour, and the occasional boom of the clasps of thunder. Lucius didn't move, knowing the cause of Draco's distress, and knowing that it was his own fault, but caring not that it was. He had only to wait a little more before both his and his son's troubles would be over. Just a little more time and they would both be free from the tie that bound them both into secrecy.  
  
He watched, and waited.  
  
"Is it troubling you that much, my son?" Lucius drawled, heavily accenting the last word.  
  
Draco's head snapped up, hearing the sound of his father's cynicism. This time, however, he had to be truthful. The pain was nearly unbearable, and he nearly couldn't breath. He answered, "Yes."  
  
Lucius eyed him without much interest, obscuring his actual concern. "Very well," he finally said. "You are dismissed."  
  
Draco nodded. "Thank you," he whispered breathlessly.  
  
His father nodded back, and, sheathing his sword, left.  
  
Draco paid no heed to him, he was too busy thinking how it would all be over soon, how he would no longer need to pretend, for indeed, all of it --- his entire life, his entire being --- had been nothing more than a mere pretense.  
  
His hand clutched at his robe, the pain in his chest continuing to manifest the reminder of who he truly was, of what he truly was.  
  
Vagrantly, he huffed himself into a fit, striding urgently across the cold stone floor and out towards the door. He walked out, feeling the binds constrict the very essence of life out of him before he could even take the tiniest bit whiff of it. He panted across the numerous halls that led to his bedchamber, stomping down the slightest bit of disturbance that blocked his path, leaving two house-elves behind him upon the carpeted floor with broken limbs.  
  
Suffer as I do, he thought. You deserve it more.  
  
He was mad. He was more than mad. If he could permit it, he would now be a raving lunatic. The pain was driving him insane. Everyday, for the past few weeks, there has been nothing more than utter pain. He liked it better when he had been younger. At least then, there hadn't been pain. He knew why… but he didn't like what he knew. It scared him to death.  
  
Damn his genes! Damn everything that had made him the way he was! Had it been any different, he would have never had any trouble at all!  
  
With one last stride, he finally reached his secluded chamber, and locked himself in its silent confines. There, no one will disturb him. There, no one exists but him. It was where he could be whatever he wanted to be, but mostly, whatever he had been raised to be.  
  
"Draco."  
  
Draco let out a disgruntled breath.  
  
It was his mother's voice calling from behind the closed door. He did not want to be disturbed. "Not now, mother," he called out, hoping she'd listen and leave.  
  
"Now," Narcissa persisted.  
  
Letting out an exasperated breath, he furiously swept aside the door, and let the blonde woman in.  
  
"What is it now, mother?" he asked, with exaggerated frustration, as he watched Narcissa take a seat on his four-poster bed.  
  
"Does it hurt?" was all she said, looking up at him with knowing eyes.  
  
Draco took the bait. "Good god, woman! Of course, it hurts!"  
  
"Then, stop it, Draco!" she pleaded, getting up, and grabbing her son by the shoulders. "You can stop it from happening right now! You can cease its continuance. You can live a normal life. If you keep this up, you might as well just be keeping it up for the rest of eternity… if it doesn't work…" Her voice trailed off.  
  
"Mother, I will not ---"  
  
"This is not going to work anymore!" she finally burst out. "They cannot find it! And what if they do find it, but it doesn't work! Draco, think of what might happen to you! You can stop it now, Draco. End it here, and you shall never have to feel that pain again, and you can live happily, knowing who you are."  
  
"Then, you should have thought of that a long time ago, mother," he told her.  
  
"Oh, my child! If only I could have! But your father and I have never expected that it would last this long! We had thought then that the potion would have already been completed by the time you were invited to Hogwarts! We never knew."  
  
"And you don't know."  
  
"My child, please stop this. I have talked to your father, and he may still be inclined to change his mind, if…"  
  
"No. Mother. I shall not," Draco answered with finality. "I'm close to my goal, yours and father's. I am so close. By now, the final phase of the potion will be completed, and I shall be free of the pain and of myself, and become a new person. I shall not ruin what has been my goal ever since birth for nothing more than a whim. Not even one of yours, mother."  
  
Narcissa gaped at him, then, backed away. Calming down, she seated herself once again. "This is not a whim, Draco," she told him. "This is exactly what I want, and I want you to change this absurdity."  
  
"What, and change my principles?"  
  
"What principles!"  
  
"My principles!" Draco countered. "'A person cannot be unless he is set free body and soul'," he quoted. "I want out of this shell you have placed me in, mother. I want out of this body. I want to become a new me. A different me."  
  
"Oh, Draco!" Narcissa stood again. "Whatever body you are in, there will be nothing new. You'll still be… you."  
  
"For goodness' sake, Narcissa!" Draco exclaimed. "You sound like one of those damned Gryffindors!"  
  
"Don't talk to me that way!" Narcissa exclaimed. "Don't you dare talk to me with such disrespect!"  
  
"I'm talking to you with such disrespect! This is my life, mother. I choose what I choose. I want what I want. And what I want is for you to get the hell out of my room! I'm a man now, mother! I will do as I wish."  
  
Narcissa opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. Instead, she stood up from the bed, and stalked away. She opened the door with a silent grace, then, stopped. "No, my child. You are not a man…" She shook her head. "Not yet. And if I can have my way," she smiled, "not ever."  
  
Draco only watched her go as she shut the door behind her, his mother's words piercing him even more than the worsening pain in his chest. He knew the truth. But he didn't want it, for at the end of this year, it will no longer be the truth.  
  
He looked out towards the window and into the rain, ignoring the tiny shaft of light that broke through the heavy clouds. The time of renewal has long past. He cannot withdraw his decision… not now. He would make his father proud. He will not change that.  
  
And already… he knew it was too late.  
  
He shook his head, but no tears came… not like they used to.  
  
* * *  
  
A/N: You like? You like? If you like, REVIEW! If you no like, REVIEW still! ^_^ Me bored. 


	2. Flames Burn Anew

Never Too Late  
  
By: Catnip  
  
A/N: Here ya go! Still short, but I hope you enjoy! ^_^x  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter 2: Flames Burn Anew  
  
Summer had passed him quickly, yet the wound still burned freshly anew. It was something he could not take so lightly, something he couldn't forget, as he sat in the drowning silence, watching both of them walk passed him, hand in hand.  
  
It was Seamus and Parvati, enjoying a silent time alone, undisturbed in the quiet tranquility of an afternoon break, amidst the falling flower blossoms of the early autumn. He'd seen them together countless times before, but the impact now was something that he could not ignore. It hurt him, hurt him to see them together, bound by a mutual understanding of both friendship and of something deeper, a deeper state of being together with the one that one loved most.  
  
Harry held his face in his hand, frustrated that he hadn't acted sooner, hadn't realized it sooner. He couldn't blame it on Cho, either. He liked the girl, but only with mere infatuation, nothing more, and lost the one that had meant so much. He had lost the war even before he had begun to fight, lost it before he even knew it was there.  
  
He felt himself slowly drifting to the verge of crying, but he didn't go there. He wouldn't dare. All he wanted was to stay there, sulking on the verdant grass, and wallowing in his pain, regretting what he had not done, unable to allow himself to forget the experience, as he knew that it was meant to teach him a lesson.  
  
The pain was good. It was the single reminder of his failure to comply with his instincts, failure to listen to what his heart had advised. He wanted to let go, to forget it, but… it was the only thing that made him feel alive. As of the moment, had he let go, he would remain nothing more than an empty shell.  
  
The pain was the only thing real, at that moment. And he made sure that he'd never --- ever --- forget.  
  
"Hello there, Harry."  
  
Ron's unmistakable voice cut him out of his desolate reverie. He was thinking nonsense, and he knew it. He didn't know what to think anymore.  
  
Flatly he greeted, "Hello, Ron."  
  
"We were looking for you, you know," Ron told him, flopping down onto the same grass that covered the area. "Where've you been?"  
  
Without thinking, Harry answered, "Nowhere. Here. I don't know."  
  
Ron's brows began to knit. "What's wrong, Harry?" he asked. "Do you sense him? Is Voldemort near? Maybe we should tell Dumbledore…"  
  
Harry managed to smile. "No, Ron," he replied, "I've just been having a bad day, that's all."  
  
"Well, Hermione's blaming it on herself again. She says she hasn't been very polite to you these past few months." Ron shook his head, and looked out into the field. "I don't know what's wrong with that girl," he told him. "I don't understand why she always has to be the cause of these things. She thinks she's so important or something. Why don't you tell her, Harry? That not everything has to revolve around her silliness?"  
  
Harry shook his head, no. "I can't tell her that, Ron," he whispered. "I can't tell her that at all."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Harry sighed. "Nothing. Nothing at all."  
  
"Then, why'd you say that?" Ron persisted. "Do you like her, Harry? I mean… not like her as a friend, I mean… really like her… Do you, Harry?"  
  
He didn't answer, just looked away.  
  
"I do," Ron whispered.  
  
Harry jerked his head to his friend. He said nothing, just looked at him. Ron didn't look back.  
  
"I've never always liked her, you know. I mean… you'd have to be crazy to do that. She's not a very likable person, at first, but…" His voice trailed off.  
  
Harry listened. "But what?"  
  
"Well…" Ron's face contorted into a visage of thought, looking for some means to continue what he had started. "Now, that I think about it, she's not at all that bad either. She's a fun person, an intelligent witch who knows what she wants in life.  
  
"I was jealous of her, to be honest. I wanted so much to be like her, but then again…" Ron sighed. "I guess, all I actually wanted was to be with her. Do you understand?"  
  
After a brief pause, Ron laughed. "I'm sorry, Harry," he apologized. "You may think I'm crazy talking to you like this, but, honestly… that's how I feel. I know it may sound silly, but…"  
  
Harry shook his head, and gave his friend a tiny pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Ron," he answered. "I understand perfectly."  
  
Ron smiled. "You do?"  
  
Harry nodded. "Go to her. Go to her, before it's too late."  
  
* * *  
  
The only thing that kept him going was the sound of Pansy's heavy footsteps stalking him from behind. Draco knew them all too well that he didn't even need to turn around to confirm his fears.  
  
But he turned.  
  
"For goodness' sake, Parkinson!" Draco exclaimed, whirling about on his heels. "Leave me alone!"  
  
Pansy stopped abruptly in her tracks, her bulldog face contorting into one of misplaced agony and desperation. "But Draco, sweetums," she whined.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes heavenward, and prayed. "It's either you leave me alone, or I'll set Voldemort on you!"  
  
At the mention of that name, Pansy's ugly face became something indescribably horrid, and she burst into a fit of tears and ran away.  
  
Draco thought, What an idiot. He turned around, and his eyes caught site of Hermione walking down the hall, unescorted. His face broke out into a grin. Now, there's one who's even more of a challenge.  
  
He went out of his way, and followed her.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry made his way across the countless hallways of the Hogwarts castle, with a visibly upset Ron stalking not far behind him, harshly muttering something like, "I should never have told him."  
  
"Wait!" he called to Harry, finally catching up with the other boy's furious strides. "Harry! Wait up!"  
  
Ron reached Harry's side, and looked up at his friend's anxious expression directed towards the next hall.  
  
He began to worry. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I saw Hermione," Harry answered.  
  
Ron looked relieved. "Oh!" he sighed, somewhat relieved --- but not quite.  
  
"With Malfoy right behind her."  
  
Ron's ears perked up. He suddenly looked alert. "Then, what are you waiting for, slowpoke!" he interjected. "She might be in trouble!" And he dashed off into a panicked run, with Harry close behind him.  
  
* * *  
  
Strange, Draco thought as he followed her stealthily through the many halls and hallways of the castle. He began to wonder why he had even thought of following her. He shrugged and passed it off for boredom.  
  
As he continued to follow suit, he finally realized where she was headed, and took a different path, creating an opportune shortcut. He met her just outside the Potions classroom, blocking the large metal doors should she be intending to come in, regarding her smugly as she looked up from the floor.  
  
She immediately stopped.  
  
"Good afternoon, Granger," he greeted without the least bit sincerity.  
  
Hermione didn't answer.  
  
"Well, now," he drawled. "What's the problem? Cat got your tongue?"  
  
She answered with an arched eyebrow. "What does it matter to you, Malfoy?" she asked.  
  
Draco feigned ignorance, putting up a theatrical disappointment on his features. "Is it that impossible for me to worry about someone?"  
  
"Cut it out, Malfoy. What do you want?"  
  
"Want? Want what?" He moved forward.  
  
She didn't flinch. "There must be something, or else you wouldn't be here following me, now, would you?"  
  
"Good observation," he pointed out. By now, he was but a few feet in front of her, and still he kept coming, like a predator who had just spotted its prey.  
  
Hermione gulped, and backed away. She did so until, she finally felt the cold stone wall right behind her. Draco couldn't miss the chance, and pinned her against the wall. Why did that always happen to a girl every time a bad guy was involved? It was getting really tiresome.  
  
"Well, well, well," Draco placed in, examining their predicament with a menacing mischief in his eyes. "What a fix you're in, Granger. Aren't you going to scream for your Weasley-boy to come?" He leaned forward until they were but a breath away.  
  
That was when Draco finally noticed a different set of footsteps heading their way. He turned at the last instant.  
  
"She doesn't need to scream, asshole."  
  
And with that, Draco staggered back and fell to the floor as he received a hard blow to the jaw, delivered by none other than… the Weasley-boy.  
  
Draco took hold of his jaw, and tested it, hoping that nothing was broken (secretly wishing he wouldn't get a bruise). His head still reeling from the force of the impact, he got up in a clumsy manner, cussing below his breath.  
  
"What the heck was that for, you snot-sucking git!"  
  
"You don't have the right to ask me anything, you weeny-brained rat!" Weasley interjected. "What did you do to Hermione?"  
  
"Nothing, you nincompoop! Can't a fellow classmate ask how his fellow classmate was?"  
  
"Then, ask your fellow jerk," Potter cut in.  
  
"Well, hello, then, Potter. How are you?"  
  
Harry couldn't miss the sarcasm. "Stay away from her, Malfoy. You don't have anything to do with us. Go to hell."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "Been there, done that. Am here, am that." He grinned. "So, you think you're so hot, eh? Saving your girlfriend from the little bastard." He moved forward.  
  
"I'm glad you know that," Ron said.  
  
"Then, watch what this little bastard's going to do." And without, the least warning, he took Hermione by wrist, and kissed her vehemently.  
  
Hermione cringed.  
  
Ron's jaw dropped.  
  
Harry flared.  
  
In a split of a second, Harry had taken the Malfoy brat by his collar and pinned him against the wall. Since Draco was a good three inches shorter, his feet were dangling three inches above the floor.  
  
Their faces were inches apart, both breathing hard, Harry with anger, and Draco with exultation at his opponent's anger.  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for, Potter? An invitation?" Draco provoked. "Go on. Hit me. That wouldn't be such a loss, now, would it?"  
  
"I'm still deciding whether to bite your head off or just bite. But then again, why don't I just do both? It couldn't be enough to harm a snake like you anyway."  
  
Draco grinned. "That's it, Potter. You're learning," he said, finally. "You see? We aren't so different from each other, after all. Why don't you drop the Weasel and join me? And I say drop the rabbit, too."  
  
"Better that than the scum."  
  
Draco glared, and for a long time, they just stayed that way.  
  
Harry wondered why he wasn't doing anything. Just a tiny little punch and it will all be over. It's going to be the hospital wing for this scum for a week. But he just stared into those intense gray eyes, heavy-lashed and knowing, and Harry lost his resolve.  
  
Depthless, they just stared back, hauntingly, with a secret they seemed to hide. Harry couldn't take his eyes off their intense gray and the searing flame that burned within. He knew something was wrong the moment he had picked him up. Draco was lighter than he had thought, and he could feel beneath the other boy's robes that he hadn't any telltale signs of having ever been in the Quidditch fields for practice, not even the tiniest bit of muscles. And those eyes… gray, alluringly beautiful.  
  
Draco noticed the change in Harry's expression, and his grin faded. "Let go of me, Potter," he commanded, his voice holding a hidden authority.  
  
"What are you afraid of, Malfoy?"  
  
Their lips were inches apart.  
  
Draco's grin returned, although this time, more out of fear. "That I'm going to hurt you."  
  
And he did.  
  
In one swift movement, Draco kicked himself of the wall, with his foot, his other foot finding itself planted to Harry's midriff as he delivered a hard and precise blow that sent the Gryffindor boy staggering back.  
  
Unfazed by any of what had happened, still looking as fresh as ever, even as he landed hard on his feet, Draco managed a more threatening grin, and spat. "Coward." And, laughing like a lunatic, he ran away.  
  
Ron and Hermione helped up their fallen friend, and asked if he was all right.  
  
Harry paid them no heed, staring off after Draco with unguarded longing. He shook his head yet again, and thought, What is happening to me?  
  
Behind him, out in the autumn air, green leaves began to fall, unnoticed.  
  
* * *  
  
A/N: Yey! I finished it! Me so happy! People who've just read this, please review! Arigatou gozaimasu! Ja! 


	3. A Gateway Opens, Marks of Destiny

Never Too Late  
  
By: Catnip  
  
A/N: Wai! Draco has a feline friend! Not Mrs. Norris, mind you. Read on and find out! Enjoy! Or get bored… well, try to enjoy, anyway!  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter 3: A Gateway Opens, Marks of Destiny  
  
That night, as Draco lay in the confines of the drawn curtains of his four- poster bed, he could feel that he was uncharacteristically unsettled by the afternoon's recent happenings. He didn't know what to think of it. Potter had acted strangely, had looked at him strangely, in a way that he had feared the most.  
  
Had Potter realized… No. He hoped not. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did. The rat wouldn't waste so much as a thought before spreading it to the entire school. Not that Draco was worried for the sake of his reputation, just that he had come so close to realizing his dream --- no --- his father's dream. Lucius had put everything he had on this dream, to have a son worth knowing, to have a son worthy to be his heir.  
  
What Draco lacked was something that had made him unworthy to be his son, and much more to be his heir. Lucius had shaped him in a way that required him to become other than what he was, the opposite of what he was, and all they had to do now was wait for the spell's completion to finish it.  
  
He didn't want Potter interfering. He didn't want him to compel him to change his mind about the only thing that had kept him going for all these years. He liked the way that he was now. He wasn't weak, unlike any of… them. And he knew that he would like himself better after the change.  
  
Finding it a trifle hard to sleep, Draco sat up, his silver-blond hair somewhat disheveled after half-an-hour's tossing and turning. He ran his fingers through the silken mass on his head, smoothing out the fine silver- gold lines. Content with its neatness, Draco got up from the bed, and stretched.  
  
He looked about, examining the eerie stillness of the room, hearing only Goyle's tremendous snoring. Silently, he walked over to his trunk at the end of his bed, and retrieved a warm robe. He then decided that he seemed to be up to some exploring at that moment as he changed from his pajamas and into his robes.  
  
Walking towards the door, he took hold of a lamp, deciding to deliberately forget to pull out his invisibility cloak and wear it. So what if he got caught? He shrugged. It was more fun that way. He was plenty bored, anyway. And besides, he's never been caught before. What were the chances of him getting caught now?  
  
His long walk towards the Great Hall passed on uneventfully. Not once had even run into Mrs. Norris or the relentless Filch. He yawned passed the two large doors with utter dismay, and soon found himself riding the moving staircases towards the library… or, what he thought was the library.  
  
Soon, after gazing each way for what seemed like moments upon moments, he began to realize, "I'm lost."  
  
Opting to continue his exploring than head back to his tiresome dorm, he took out his wand, and unlocked a rotting wooden door that lead him to…  
  
A mirror.  
  
He sighed heavily. "Of all the rotten things," he muttered under his breath. Out of curiosity, he silently moved over to the still form of the looking glass right in the center of the shadowed room. He stood before it, straight and proud, every bit the proud prince he had been taught to be.  
  
Draco gazed straight into the heart of the mirror, into the glass where his reflection stood just as he did, except…  
  
His eyes widened in shock. He looked taller, and beneath the heavy covers of his robes, he could see that his reflection was covered in lithe, hard muscles he could never have acquired. The jaws were set firmly, made more angular, allowing him to look more masculine than he really was. His eyes were sharper, clearer, still endowed with heavy lashes, but not enough to make him look feminine, just enough to make him look… irresistibly charming, and almost inhumanly handsome. It added to his natural allure, which Draco appreciated, very much.  
  
He looked… different. And Draco told himself, "I look good…"  
  
His thoughts were immediately interrupted, however, by a loud meow that reverberated across the stone walls of the room. He whirled around from this side to that, with a new fright that caused his heart to beat frantically within his chest. He was beginning to get another breathing problem as it continued. He feared that he might faint with the lack of sufficient air.  
  
He whirled back towards the mirror, and his heart, once again, jumped to his throat, but this time, with disgruntled relief. He sighed, his shoulders sagging. He gazed at the tiny black form that had crept out from behind the mirror.  
  
It was a cat. A stark black cat that stared up at him with large golden eyes. Its pupils were shaped into slits, and its eyes glowed with an eerie and iridescent light that gleamed with a show of inhumanity. Hidden by the night's shadows, it looked as if the eyes had merely been set afloat, as its fur was even blacker than the night, even blacker than the shadows, as if it was made of the darkness itself.  
  
Draco knelt down on one knee before it. He gave it an assuring smile, and called it to him as if it had been a long-lost friend.  
  
"Come here, boy. I'm not gonna hurt you," he told it. "Come on, boy."  
  
When it only responded his proddings with a questioning blink, he began to wonder…Hesitantly, he got on to his hands and knees, and examined the part below its abdomen. His face dropped.  
  
"Oh." And he called again, "Come here, girl."  
  
The cat blinked at him, but it slowly, if not hesitantly, walked up to him, with an inquiring look that Draco thought odd to have been placed in a cat. It almost seemed… human.  
  
He shrugged it off as it came closer to him. Impossible, he thought. With that, he scooped up the trusting animal, and cradled it gently in his arms.  
  
He'd always liked cats. He wondered why. But, then again, maybe he already knew. As he found nothing more that was of interest to him in that room, not even the strange reflection within that strange mirror, he began to move, with the cat still cradled lovingly within his arms, towards the wooden door.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry, Ron and Hermione, all huddled up inside the folds of the invisibility cloak Harry had been given years before, sauntered together across the school as they deftly tried to elude Filch's relentless cat. They had the worst luck that evening of having had triggered the sleeping feline's awareness by accidentally stepping on its tail, not once, but twice.  
  
It was raving mad now, and it had been tailing their scent for the past few minutes. They hadn't found any place they could have hidden without it close behind their backs. It was always there, right behind them, relentless as ever.  
  
"Damn it, Ron!" Hermione hissed. "Why'd you have to step on it!"  
  
"I told you: it was an accident," Ron justified. "Tell her, Harry."  
  
"I'm not quite sure it was an accident myself," Harry admitted, blushing beneath the shadows.  
  
Ron was enraged. "What, you too!"  
  
"You did step on it twice," Hermione reminded him.  
  
Ron faltered. "Well… well, it's not my fault! Um… I just thought that… um…"  
  
"You just thought what?"  
  
"I just thought that… the second one… might… disable it? And that'd keep it from chasing us."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "Good work," he grunted, with sarcasm before accidentally taking hold of Hermione's bum. He retracted, and muttered an apology.  
  
Hermione didn't notice.  
  
Harry shushed them, blushing even more because of Hermione's closeness.  
  
Together, they followed the set of moving stairs, caring not where it lead them, just as long as it lead Filch's cat far away.  
  
Ron looked around, and realized something that might have slipped his mind. "Um, Harry."  
  
"What is it, Ron?"  
  
"Don't these stairs look familiar to you?"  
  
"Why of course, it does, you nitwit," Hermione cut in. "We see them in school everyday."  
  
"I wasn't talking to you," Ron reminded her. "What do you think, Harry?"  
  
All three climbed off together at the last staircase, taking the invisibility cloak from off their backs. Harry looked around.  
  
"Oh, don't listen to him, Harry," Hermione admonished. "You know he's only joking."  
  
"No," Harry whispered. "I don't think so. I think…" He looked behind him, and examined the familiar wooden door, though, by this time, it was mostly eaten by termites. His eyes suddenly lit up. "Ron! This is…"  
  
"This is what, Harry?" Hermione inquired.  
  
Ron nodded, and walked towards the Harry's side. Hesitantly, they pushed the door, and entered. Harry was taken aback. The mirror was there.  
  
And so was Draco.  
  
* * *  
  
The sight of Potter and his gang was enough to send Draco stepping back a pace. Damn, he cursed. I can't be seen with this damned cat.  
  
As if reading his mind, the cat silently glided out of his arms and onto the floor.  
  
"How cute!" Hermione exclaimed, as she saw the cat land on silent feet upon the stone floor. She walked over to its shadowy form, spreading her arms out as if to embrace it, despite Ron's protest and Draco's stunned presence.  
  
The cat only stared at her.  
  
Hermione reached out.  
  
The cat hissed, and delivered a swipe of its paw, barely missing the back of Hermione's startled hand.  
  
She caught her breath, stepping back as it arched its back up in a feline crouch, baring silver-white fangs even as sharp nails jutted out of its paws. Ron took Hermione by the shoulders protectively, as the feline hissed at them once again with predatorial bestiality.  
  
It had its eyes set on Hermione even as Ron continued to pull her back. Both had their set on it. Hermione, knowing it was her fault, gasped for a belated apology, and tripped. Both of them stumbled back, with her fall catching Ron off his guard.  
  
The cat pounced.  
  
Its movements gave only a second's warning for Harry to move between Hermione and the attacking cat. In his attempt to capture it, the feline delivered a precise swipe of his claws to his face. By some miracle, Harry still managed to block its attack with his arm, but in doing so, he had received three gashes to his left arm.  
  
The cat kicked itself off his body and back to the floor. But it didn't stop there. Instead, it turned towards Draco with shocking speed.  
  
Draco had already stepped back towards the mirror, wherein he was only two feet away from its glassy surface.  
  
The cat, once again, hissed, and it dashed towards its next prey. This time, it was without warning.  
  
Draco let out a strangled cry, raising his arms to cover his face.  
  
The cat jumped…  
  
And went through him, and disappeared into the surface of the mirror.  
  
Harry watched, dumbstruck.  
  
Draco turned around just as the glass exploded into a thousand pieces, shedding a brilliant ambiance of an unearthly glow.  
  
Draco shielded his eyes.  
  
Harry did the same.  
  
And all they could see was… the shining light!  
  
* * *  
  
A/N: You're probably wondering what happened to the cat… In the next chapter, probably. And --- let me remind you again --- REVIEW!!! 


	4. A Whole New World

Never Too Late  
  
By: Catnip  
  
A/N: The four of them end up in an alternate world, where they are separated. I'm not making this too long, though. Actually, I'm trying to make the entire fanfic as short as possible so that I can go ahead and continue doing my other stuff. Hehe. Enjoy!  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter 4: A Whole New World  
  
The wind blew across the barren glade, where tall trees stood in stark defiance to any trespasser that would come by its way. They were still, as silent as death until the blowing gale began to rustle its unforgiving leaves, passing through its unbending stillness, creating an eerie harmony of unspoken derision.  
  
Two figures lay upon the unguarded ground, bare of any verdance, save for a single mark of green laden with silver upon the untainted black of the Hogwarts robes.  
  
The first thing Harry laid his eyes on the moment he woke up was a wisp of feathery blond hair that glittered like silver beneath the rays of the glaring sun. He reached out to it, hoping to caress its smooth, silvery sinews, wondering if the finest of silk could ever be finer than one such as this.  
  
The figure that lay before him stirred. It was then that Harry heard the uneven sound of labored breathing as the form moved from its side to lie on its back. Harry gasped at the sudden realization to who it was that lay before him, finding it hard to believe that his already-manifested attraction to the Slytherin boy had been magnified with that sudden realization of a deeper attraction.  
  
His eyes slowly grazed over the fineness of the other boy's features as if in an attempt of committing them into memory, as if in an attempt to learn them, to know them, by heart. In silent longing, his eyes took in the severely delicate bone structure of Draco's breathtakingly pallid countenance where dark, ebony lashes caressed its creamy surface, seeming an even darker color beneath the summer rays. He studied in deep admiration the sweet, supple texture of red, red lips that ultimately challenged the authenticity of crimson. It was a striking combination to admire all at once. Draco was striking in himself, but more than that: he was beautiful. Not a mere shallow beauty that was often manifested, the kind that one knows would only be there but for a short period of time only to rot within the dismal and brooding presence of a depthless grave, unable to survive. What Draco had was a beauty filled to the brim with divine grace, god-like, undying, immortal, an unethereal beauty meant to survive forever, even in death.  
  
Harry began to notice it in that single instant, as Draco lay in silent submission to the slumber that had overcome him hours before. Utter and inexplicable innocence that belied the hideousness of the heart that was within were wrought, and doubly magnified, by the beauty that reverberated throughout the bodily features of an incarnated soul… except the opposite of that soul.  
  
He slapped himself awake, accidentally hitting the back of his head onto the sharp pebble that lay on the ground with extreme hardness. He paid no heed to it. "Dammit!" he hissed. What the heck was wrong with him! This was Malfoy for crying out loud! Since when did Malfoy become Draco! And since when did he, the Boy Who Lived, ever had any certain inclination towards homosexuality! He was no damn fag! And he was bent on murdering anyone who would even mistake him as one, even himself.  
  
"DAMMIT!" he cried, feeling the pain of the bleeding bump for the first time.  
  
Draco came awake. He did so in a blink of an eye. His eyes flew open the very instant the last syllable had fallen from Harry's lips. He sat up at that same instant, too, very nearly startling the momentarily-suicidal Boy Who Lived out of his wits, leaving Harry to hit his head once again.  
  
The other boy ignored his cry of pain, as he looked about his environment with sudden alertness and dazed panic. He asked the only relevant question that the Boy Who Lived had failed to ask: "Where am I?"  
  
"It's more like: 'where are we?'" Harry interrupted, as he painfully propped himself up from the ground with one elbow, while his other hand rubbed the freshly opened wound at the back of his head. He winced.  
  
Finally on his feet, Draco whirled around to face him, and scowled, loosing all of the divine innocence that Harry had seen earlier while he was unconscious, altogether loosing his god-like appeal. When he spoke to him, it was in a sneer. "I wasn't talking to you, Potter, " he pointed out, " because obviously, you don't know."  
  
"Oh. And you do?"  
  
"I have better chances, yes."  
  
"And what makes you so special?"  
  
"What doesn't?"  
  
Harry jumped to his feet. "Sniveling git."  
  
"Sock-sucking numbskull."  
  
"Megalomaniac."  
  
"Pot-headed lame-brained acne-munching ass!"  
  
"Thick-faced snot-smelling Muggle-lover!"  
  
Draco struck.  
  
Harry stumbled back to the ground with an audible thump, grunting as his head once again landed on a pebbly spot, making his head hurt even more. He wondered if it was already becoming a habit with him. Having pushed himself only partly off the barren ground, Harry felt the weight of Malfoy's heavy boots pound on his unguarded chest, sending him back into the dust, his head reeling from the force of this certain impact.  
  
The disoriented boy, looked up to the scowling face of his assailant, and swore. "What do you think you're doing!" he spat.  
  
Instead of answering, Malfoy pushed the heel of his boot harder unto Harry's chest in an attempt to crush all the bones that gave the Pot-headed idiot the nerve to call him one such as a Muggle-lover.  
  
He sneered. "I hate Muggles, you know," Draco calmly put in, putting more force to Harry's ribs, crushing the air out his opponent. "And you know what I hate more than Muggles, Potter? It's people like you. People like you who are nothing more than insignificant little bugs trying to invade our world, inflicting us with your pathetic weaknesses, trying ever so hard to compete with beings you people know you can't match! Why don't you just go away!"  
  
A sudden meow reverberated across the surrounding trees. Draco whipped around in great anticipation, recognizing the distinct and recognizable accent of its feline drawl.  
  
He was right.  
  
There, upon the irregular surface of a large rock just before him, as black as night as ever it had been, stood the golden-eyed feline in its ascending majesty, staring at him in an open remark of disapproval.  
  
Reflecting the apprehension, Draco moved languidly towards the animal, taking light caution with every step that he took. He stopped, two feet away from the rock --- and the cat. They stared at each other for quite a while, each one ignoring the mildly injured Boy Who Lived as he got up from his dust bed with an occasional grunt.  
  
Draco's hand suddenly shot out in a blink of an eye. In that same blink, the cat jumped from his calculated reach with a high feline growl, swiping the back of his hand with its exposed claws, and scampered away into the vastness of the unfamiliar woods that encircled them.  
  
The startled boy jumped with a strangled cry, hissing at the sudden pain in his right hand. His hand, shaking with surprise, brought itself up, as he examined the three fresh and long gashes that marred the pale, creamy surface of his delicate skin with gritted teeth. Blood oozed freely from the open wounds, his sinews throbbing with the pain that it caused. He turned his hand into a fist, hoping that the action would ease the pain. It didn't.  
  
"Damn!" he hissed, turning on his heels to face the Potter-boy once again.  
  
What met him was a fist full of unrestrained fury.  
  
It was his turn to topple back, hitting his head on the irregular surface of the ever-present rock. Fortunately, all he received was a massive bump to his head. Other than that, he also received a strong hit to his face, the impact causing his skin to work its way to manifest a visible bruise, which he did not appreciate in the least bit.  
  
He staggered to his feet, glaring menacingly at the dark-haired boy that stood confidently before him. Harry was taller and heavier-built than Draco would ever be, making a frontal assault on the other boy a futile attempt. Draco saw his disadvantage there.  
  
Predicting a case that he might get knocked off his feet again, Draco took several steps to the side, making sure that the unavoidable rock was as far from him as possible. However, he did not take the liberty of looking behind him to see if any other obstacles lay where he would most likely fall. He didn't want Harry to count that as a weakness, which it probably might have been.  
  
Without warning, Harry charged, catching the blond boy off his guard. He leapt to the air almost immediately, ultimately knocking Draco off his feet and onto solid ground where the Slytherin Prefect felt the full disadvantage of having Harry's weight directly on top of him.  
  
Harry took both of Draco's wrists in his hands, restraining the other boy from any counter attack he might have thought of. He had left his wand somewhere in the bedroom, he wasn't taking any chances should Malfoy be equipped with his own wand. He felt Draco struggle weakly against him as the slight boy was pinned helplessly beneath him.  
  
"Damn you, Potter!" Draco spat.  
  
"Damn you, Malfoy," Harry countered. "What in the Abyss were you trying to do! That damned cat might have been our only way out of this godforsaken place. You just ruined our chances of escaping with your damnable actions, you thoughtless git. How are we supposed to go back to school now!"  
  
"I was trying to catch her, you imbecile!"  
  
"But looked what happened! She escaped! Why? Because you have no brains to even think of the consequences if ever you did something as stupid as that! She's a damned cat! Cats have faster reflexes than you slimes have! How were you supposed to catch her then!"  
  
"Don't you dare underestimate me, Potter! I am not one to be underestimated by insects such as yourself! How was I supposed to know she was that fast! What would you do if ever there was a cat to catch in front of you and an insect waiting to bite just right behind you!"  
  
"Then, you shouldn't have bitten that insect first, you moron!" He took the other boy by the front of his robes, and in sheer frustration brought his face up to him, and bringing his head back to the ground with a thump. "You are so stupid!" he hissed.  
  
Draco didn't answer. His head hurt too much. The pain had caused his head to be more than a trifle nauseated. What was more, Harry was sitting on his midriff, which gave him a harder time in breathing than he would have wanted. He breathed in gasps. "Damn you, Potter. You're heavy…" he breathed.  
  
Harry blushed, only beginning to realize the other boy's troubles. He let Draco's robes go, getting himself off the Slytherin's slight sinews as well as the filthy ground. He watched silently as the Draco got to his feet in slow languid movements, calmly dusting himself off with nimble hands, all the while, keeping a good eye at Harry to keep the bespectacled boy from doing anything else. Harry's eyes took in the other boy's fragile appearance, and he was suddenly reminded that he was a marble statue compared to this delicate doll.  
  
Doll?  
  
He grinned inwardly, amused at his own metaphor, but didn't let it show. Picking up a sound other than his or Draco's breathing, his ears suddenly perked up. Something was coming, he could hear the distinct sound of boots crunching dried leaves and bark. Something was calling his name. No, someone. It was then that he realized that the voice seemed oddly familiar to his ears, like the remnant of a lost memory resurrected.  
  
"Hermione?" he called out. "Hermione! Hermione, it's me! Where are you?"  
  
Yet another voice pitched in. This one was louder, raspier like that of a male teenager's. "Harry? Harry, is that you?"  
  
"Ron! Ron, I'm with Malfoy! We're over here! Ron! Hermione! Where are you?"  
  
"Harry! Where's here! Where are you!"  
  
The voices were coming closer. He could tell they were nearing them. "Ron! I'm over here! Just follow my voice!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Ron!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
Still silence.  
  
He began to panic. "Ron! Hermione! Where are you! Ro---!"  
  
Draco's hand clamed over his mouth. "Not now," he whispered, almost hissing. His voice was deadly cold, lethally calm, penetrating.  
  
What scared Harry wasn't the sound of his voice. What scared him was the sense of Draco's closeness, his nearness. Harry cringed as he felt the warmth of Draco's soft breath caress the sensitive part at the nape of his neck with a seductive appeal. The gentle touch sent a cascade of ripples running down his spine, chilling him not with fear but with a chill of anticipation to have Draco's lips graze over him even just slightly. His heart pounded rapidly at the feel of the pulsating heat of Draco's body just behind him, intermingling with his own heat. All the while, he could still feel, though only vaguely, the rhythmic pulse of Draco's heartbeat tugging at his spine.  
  
That was how close he was. And it scared him half to death.  
  
Finally, after what seemed to be almost an hour to Harry (though but a very few moments to the other), Draco's fingers crept slowly away, and Draco himself backed away, wanting no more than the space that was once again between them.  
  
Harry took his liberty to breathe though succeeding in obscuring the effects of his ordeal. He was relieved to have at last acquired the distance between him and the other boy. He didn't want to experience it ever again, lest he find himself kissing the guy. He shuddered at the thought, shifting his growing unease to something more of anger than anything else. Besides, he had more in his mind than any more of what he had been primarily thinking. He wanted to leave.  
  
He whipped around to face the blonde boy who stood warily, his eyes shifting around in the heightening brilliance of the ascending sun. Draco said nothing.  
  
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"  
  
Malfoy raised a hand to silence him. He said nothing.  
  
Harry followed his gaze. "I see nothing there, Malfoy. You can't fool me. Quit it."  
  
Draco cast him a deadly glare. Still, he said nothing.  
  
Harry strode forward, irrationally mad, and he knew it, but he didn't care. All he wanted at that moment was either to kiss that dumb ass of a Malfoy or to find his two best friends, one meaning more to him than a friend. It didn't take him long to decide that he would much prefer the latter.  
  
He thought on that as he grabbed the front part of Draco's robes once again, lifting the other boy until his toes barely touched the ground. "Quit it, Malfoy," he said again. "I know there's nothing there. I know you're only trying to scare me. Why? I don't know. But I don't like it. I don't like what you're doing to me." Harry shut up.  
  
That wasn't right.  
  
Draco arched a brow. "And what exactly am I doing to you, Potter?" he inquired menacingly, letting the Boy know that he hadn't missed his slip. "From what I can see, it is you who have your filthy hands on me. What can I possibly do?"  
  
Harry pushed him aside. "Shut up, Malfoy. The last thing I need now is an insult," he amended. "All I want to do is to get back home. Now, if you want to stay here, be my guest. But I, on the other hand, am not about to sit around doing nothing, especially nothing with you. I'm going to go away, whether you come with me or not. I will find Ron and Hermione, and I will go home, with or without you. Which is it?"  
  
Draco didn't answer. He cringed.  
  
In that last instant, Harry finally saw what his archenemy had seen times before, also finally realizing the total necessity of Draco's attempts to avoid it. Harry cursed. He and his big mouth.  
  
Before them, in full height no less than eight feet tall, stood the massive bulk of a big, black grizzly bear. Harry gritted his teeth, standing as still as one possibly could before that tremendous living body mass that opened its wide gaping jaws to a long and hungry growl.  
  
Only a few meters away from the growling beast, Draco groped around in his robes in an attempt to find his wand. He came out empty-handed. His head jerked up to face the massive mouth that opened wide to deliver a warning growl. He backed away, his body bent into a crouch so as not to attract any attention. He stepped beside Harry, and stopped.  
  
Both were breathing heavily with fright, unable to make the fatal decision between running and staying. If they run, there was no doubt that the bear would most likely catch up to them, and rip them apart piece by piece. If they stay, there was a chance of surviving, of passing as a dead corpse if they would take the risk of lying still.  
  
Harry knew Draco wasn't about to give in to that kind of submission, and he wouldn't allow himself to do something as risky as that either. Surely, he had courage enough to face the bear head on, even without the wand, but he wasn't assured survival. That was all he wanted, to know that he has survived so that he can get to Hermione as fast as he can, to help them find a way to get back to Hogwarts.  
  
"I know that this might not be the time to ask," Harry panted. "How fast can you run?"  
  
Draco's face fell. "I don't know what this thing might be, Potter, but I'm certainly not running from it. I have no protection whatsoever against something this big should it catch up to us."  
  
"Do you plan on staying?"  
  
"I don't know what you're so worried about, Potter. Normally, I would have expected you to leave me without a second's thought. Well… if you ever had a thought."  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy. I'm trying to think."  
  
"Trying."  
  
Harry glared. Then, he darted his eyes towards a nearby tree towards the large trunk of an oak. "There."  
  
He didn't point, but somehow, Draco already knew what he was referring to. He shook his head. "Too far."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I can't run that fast! I have," he hesitated, "a breathing disorder."  
  
Harry looked at him in scrutiny. It didn't sound like a lie, he'd heard his breathing, yet it didn't sound like the entire truth either. He hesitated.  
  
"It doesn't matter, does it, Potter? You'd probably enjoy him ripping me to pieces, anyway, won't you?"  
  
"I might hate you, Malfoy, but don't you dare try to compare me with you or your damned ox for a father. I'm not as heartless."  
  
"Or as smart."  
  
That was it! He wasn't taking anymore insults from this freak. He stepped back as he prepared to dash for the tree. Unfortunately, he stepped on a twig.  
  
The bear leaped.  
  
So did Harry.  
  
Draco was immobilized and was backhanded to a nearby stub, where his head hit hard on the solid trunk, rendering him unconscious.  
  
However, the bear did not go after him. It went for Harry.  
  
Harry ran as fast as his feet could carry him, faster than he thought he could, until he almost thought that it was already impossible for him to breathe. The only thing that kept him from flying off the ground right then and there was the pressure of the air that weighed him down, making it an easier run for the larger beast that whipped its way across the downdraft towards him.  
  
The bear initiated a second leap, and this time, succeeded.  
  
Harry made contact to the ground with his stomach, the bear right on top of him, crushing the smallest bit of air that was left in him after the sudden impact with the ground that had knocked the wind out of his lungs.  
  
He grunted as he struggled to breathe, squirming almost pleadingly beneath the large mass of bear standing on his spine. He knew he couldn't throw that much weight off, but he wasn't going to give up without the fight either. He struggled harder, ignoring the pain of the sharp stones that cut right into his skin, bruising him, or wounding him.  
  
The weight suddenly shifted behind him. It was either caused by the bears downsizing or by his mere imagination alone. He didn't care, but suddenly he knew he could take on it. A sourceless strength filled him, and he threw whatever occupant there was off from his aching spine.  
  
Finally free to move around, he rolled over the dried grass to take a look at his conquered assailant, realizing then and there that it was far from conquered. And more than that. What he saw took his breath away for an entire second. Where the black bear was supposed to be, harry saw in its place the body of a big black wolf.  
  
"Animagus," he whispered, gaping at it as it stood on unsteady feet. Though how it could have changed so fast without him noticing it, Harry didn't know. He hurriedly scrambled to his feet in time to meet another leap.  
  
The bear-turned-wolf landed flat on his stomach, its forearms pinning his shoulders to the ground. At least, however it left his hands free so that he may be able to ward off any attack. The wolf released a strange howl of triumph. Then, it's large gaping jaws turned on him abruptly, cutting the howl short, and lunged at the exposed vessels of his throat.  
  
Harry crossed his arms in front of his face, putting the wolf's neck at the corner of that cross. The wolf missed him but a single inch, its crooked teeth barely grazing the skin at his neck. It tried again, its jaws snapping each attempt, but always missing.  
  
He wasn't sure how long he would be able to hold on to it. Already, his arms were growing tired, and his shoulders were also beginning to ache, as the wolf's massive claws dug into his unprotected flesh. The cloth of his robes were damp where the blood soaked it. And even if he did hold on long enough to keep his throat from getting ripped, he was fairly sure that he was going to bleed to death if the wolf's nails managed to severe a major artery.  
  
It glowered at him with gold-red eyes, its jaws persistent upon drawing out the blood from its prey, but always, it missed. Then, the wolf began to hesitate. Harry was glad for the relief, leaving himself off guard for a mere second. That particular second was all the wolf needed. Harry realized too late.  
  
The wolf lunged.  
  
His eyes shut…  
  
And he waited for what never came.  
  
He opened his eyes just as the wolf fell to the ground, unconscious. He studied its limp body, and sat bolt upright, gaping.  
  
The wolf's body that lay before him began to twitch in spasmodic convulsions. He could hear bones breaking in their wake, muscles shifting their initial arrangements into something barely unrecognizable, some form between man and animal. In a brief moment of muted speculation, Harry saw it begin to take shape once again. The result of its change was something worth the trouble of having waited around to find out.  
  
She lay there, unconscious and tranquil. A thick cluster of straight and extremely long black hair spread all about her, obscuring her nakedness beneath its dark sheet of velvet. Dark lashes caressed her tanned skin. He didn't know what were the color of those eyes, but he made a wild guess that they might have been golden.  
  
He caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of his eye, and jerked his head to its general direction. What he saw nearly took his breath away.  
  
Before him in full splendor, in an immense show of her deitian beauty, stood a figure but a few years younger than he was, shining with an aura of light. He squinted at her brilliance, however, catching the unmistakable gleam of gold in her calm, almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was a void of black in the blinding light, cascading down her back in graceful half-waves. She was short and slight, and held a long silver scepter in her right hand, and reached out to him with it. Its tip, a massive stone of amethyst touched his chest. And for an instant, the light took him, but in that same instant, it evaded him too.  
  
He felt the warmth of pure energy overwhelm him just at it left. He looked down as the amethyst was withdrawn from his, and realized that the wounds dug into his shoulders were no longer there, so were the bruises.  
  
He looked up again, only to see the girls' figure walk towards his side. She knelt beside the unconscious body of the fallen girl. With the scepter no longer in sight, she lifted the other girl in her arms, and stood. Without turning back, she walked away, the tips of her long, black hair brushing the fallen leaves that covered the ground. She disappeared into a blinding light.  
  
Harry blinked, and blinked again. He closed his eyes shut, to clear his eyes of the light, but also to convince himself that it was a dream. When he looked up again, they were no longer in sight, and it was only to see Draco's smug face, looking over to where the two forms disappeared.  
  
In silence, Harry stood up, and walked away. Draco did the same.  
  
This was a new world. They needed to explore.  
  
* * *  
  
A/N: This took me a longer time to write than did any of the others. I hope you liked my effort. There's something lacking, though. I don't know what it is, and I'm definitely not about to waste my time trying to find out. If you cared so much of what is not said than what has been said, go ahead. No one's stopping you. Review, nonetheless. 


	5. Traces of a Scar

Never Too Late  
  
By: Catnip  
  
A/N: This is so weird. The first part is boring, very boring, but please, DO read on… I just didn't want to lengthen this thing, so I summarized their entire exploits during their first days in these woods. But it gets better! I think… anyway, I need you people to read this so that you can give comments and suggestions. Sorry if it came so late… my father wouldn't allow me to upload this darn thing. *Pout * I do hope you appreciate it. Bye-bye! ^__^x  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter 5: Traces of a Scar  
  
It was in that first week that Harry had asked Draco to help him in his search for both Ron and Hermione. Draco helped him, eventually, after countless pleas and shared insults that had driven him into near insanity. That was most probably the reason why he had agreed to help at last. They looked for Harry's two missing friends everywhere, usually never spending a moment's rest without trying to figure out where the other two might have been. Draco stayed as far away from Harry as he dared during that time, often taking his baths in nearby streams all on his own, as well as always sleeping as far as the next neighborhood. After two weeks of shared frustrations and of having no luck in finding either Ron or Hermione, Draco was finally fed up, and left. Harry hadn't seen him ever since.  
  
Alone and abandoned, Harry didn't give up his search, wandering continuously throughout the empty woods for two weeks more, wondering where its vastness would end. It never did. Weary and heavy-laden, a frustrated Boy Who Lived stumbled upon an old, abandoned shack. It smiled down at him, offering him its homey shelter, and warm, well-missed fireplace. Harry was overjoyed. The only thing that could match that joy was the utter relief as Hermione came from behind those wooden doors, and jumped straight into his open arms, welcoming him.  
  
Harry smiled. That had been one month ago, well remembered, yet somewhat forgotten. He stood amidst the scattered light that spread throughout the leaf-covered forest floor. He wondered when, or how, they would be able to return home.  
  
All three of them had left the shack once after their reunion, trying to find out whether there was a way of leaving the forest. If there was, they never found it. They had ventured then far into the forest, deeper than they would have ever dared, often having to avoid dangerous pits and lethal- laden trails, but always going to the west, never to any other direction, always to the west. And even if they had all kept a sharp lookout to the course of their travels, they somehow always ended up back to where they had begun. In the confines of the house.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Harry gave a start.  
  
"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't think I'd frighten you."  
  
He looked up self-consciously into the gentle, smiling face of Hermione, and smiled. "Don't worry. It's okay," he answered. "I was only thinking about something." He lowered his gaze towards the leaf-covered ground, fiddling incredulously with his fingers.  
  
He was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree that had been earlier struck by lightning just in front of the house. Hermione sat beside him, harnessing her own worry from the anxiety in his face. "Worried about Malfoy?" she asked.  
  
The question caught him off guard. "What made you say that?"  
  
Hermione blushed. "Well, nothing." She hesitated. "Just that he has been all alone since he left you, right? Anything could have happened to him. What if that bear tried to attack him again?"  
  
"The bear's gone, Hermione. It was taken away, remember?"  
  
"But what if another one of them did? You know, coming out of nowhere like they usually have a habit of doing? There's always a chance of that happening again, don't you think?"  
  
He shook his head. "If you haven't noticed, Hermione, there's nothing here. It's just you, Ron, me… and these stupid trees. Nothing lives here. As if this forest has been abandoned or something. I don't know. I don't know what it is, or what's happening here, but its something out of the natural, even deeper than our magic. It's something… like… like meeting Voldemort all over again. It feels…"  
  
"Evil?" Hermione finished for him.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"The more then that we should be worried about Malfoy."  
  
"Why do you like him so much?" Harry snapped.  
  
"Oh. Come on, Harry. It has nothing to do with liking him or not. It does, however, have something to do with trying to help him or not, if it is the right thing you should do, or… if it's not. You used to help people, Harry. What's so different with helping Malfoy?"  
  
"We can't waste our time doing that. If we're going to look for a way out of this damned place, we're going to need all the time we can get. We can't waste our time on Malfoy." He looked around as if he thought someone might be listening, then turned back to her. "We have to stay here at all times. I've been thinking, and I think that this house is the key to getting out. I'm not sure how it is, but there's a chance of it. Maybe there's a reason that we arrived here, and that we always land here no matter where we go. Searching isn't going to help. It will just lead us back here. Wherever here is."  
  
"Harry, all your thoughts are being based on assumptions. We don't know for sure if there even is a truth to what you're saying." She took his hand in her own. Harry didn't resist. "There may also be a chance that Malfoy may be able to help us. Since he isn't here right now, he could be anywhere. And since he may be anywhere, he may have gathered some information about this forest."  
  
Harry grunted in derision.  
  
Hermione ignored him. "What I'm saying is that there's a chance that he could help us get out of here, or that he could have already found a way out of here."  
  
"Don't listen to her, Harry," Ron interrupted from behind them, walking up, and sitting down beside her. "She's only saying that because the rotten git kissed her."  
  
Hermione nudged his ribs with a sharp elbow. Ron laughed, and drew her to him with a strong arm, and kissed her deeply. She returned the kiss, her arms finding themselves around his neck to lock him in a tight embrace.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes in disgust, mostly because he had been so close to kissing her himself. How he would love to have her kiss him instead. How he would love to have her.  
  
"Don't go mushy on me, right now," he told them with disdain. "I'm not in the mood to watch you make out with each other right in front of me. Have some decency for crying out loud."  
  
Both lovebirds broke their embrace. Hermione blushed. She cleared her throat. "Sorry."  
  
Ron only grinned, and whispered something to Hermione's ear. Whatever he said made her blush even more. Ron got up, still grinning. He winked down at Harry, but Harry could only smile, an empty smile that he knew reflected nothing but the void building in him. He knew what it was Ron had said. It brought out the worst in him.  
  
He got up in a fit.  
  
"Wait! Harry!" he heard Hermione call. "Where are you going?"  
  
Without turning back, Harry answered, "To look for Malfoy."  
  
* * *  
  
Although, how he planned to do that, he didn't know.  
  
What he did know was that he was lost, fairly lost as he struggled to free himself from the gripping vines that held him fast. The more he struggled against his captor, the more it gripped him, its piercing thorns biting through his robes and deep into soft, vulnerable flesh, drawing from his veins the crimson flow of blood.  
  
Once again, he was alone, with no one to help him, no one to save him, no one to care. But he was used to that, so he didn't mind… much. He would do what he had always done in the past, rely on himself and his own abilities. Right now, he was without his magic, without his friends. He was plainly Harry. And Harry had enough training in the Quidditch field to give him sufficient strength.  
  
The vines proved strong, but he was stronger still, and with a fierce battle cry, and a tumultuous pull, he ripped himself from their tangled grasp, free at last.  
  
He landed flat on his face onto the solid ground, feet away from the treacherous greenery he had mistaken for harmless shrubs. They were menacing now, as they hissed behind him, their thorny coils receding, waiting to strike again should he give them another chance. Invisible eyes watched him as he crawled up onto his hands and knees, his robes tattered with the presence of bloody rips, his wounded skin visible through the gaps in the cloth.  
  
The wounds stung him, sending violent flashes of pain through his nerves, making his body convulse with the agony of it. He knew then that the thorns had been armed with poison. He knew. It shot through him like a merciless army of flashing death, sending chills all over his limbs, replacing the scarlet river that bled from him, and bled his life out of him. And because of the pain, and because of frustration, he banged his fits against the hard ground, and cried.  
  
"I knew you'd come."  
  
Harry looked up in an instant, and was sent back with a gasp, both from a blinding pain in his eyes and of sheer astonishment. "Malfoy," he whispered, surprised. He hadn't recognized him immediately, however. What left him in shock was the way Draco's hair had grown so long, and so fast. It was the same silken mass of silver-gold hair that streamed behind him in graceful waves. Handsome was a term to describe a state of masculinity, Draco was in no way masculine. And even through bloodshot eyes, Harry concluded that he was indeed beautiful, without a shadow of a doubt.  
  
Draco arched an eyebrow. "Don't be too surprised to see me, Potter," he said. "You were looking for me, weren't you? Well, then." He spread his arms to the side with regal grace, palms up, in a show of theatrical presentation. "Here I am."  
  
"Too late. I've been poisoned," came the abrupt answer.  
  
Draco only had to look at the blood that flowed freely from his eyes, before he grasped the truth of it. His expression didn't change. When he spoke, it was without emotion. "I know. Assuming that you have been wounded by the snake vines, you have an hour to live."  
  
Harry shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about dying, hiding the rising turmoil even from himself. "So I'm dead." He grinned, wiping the blood from his eyes, panicking at the sight of crimson instead of crystal tears. Despite what he saw, he only said, "Congratulations."  
  
Draco clicked his tongue. "Save that for when you're really dead," he said. With a ravishing sweep of his cape, Draco turned, and with a commanding gesture, he said, "Come."  
  
Harry only grunted, nauseated due to blood loss, but he kept his voice steady. And instead of following Malfoy as he had commanded, he placed his hands behind his head to serve as a momentary pillow, and lay down in a show of relaxation, taking his time to cross a leg over the other with forced calmness. "I think I'll just lie here."  
  
"I told you to come."  
  
"What's the use? I'll probably keel over and die on the way. I can't even see through this… blood."  
  
"What I said was that you had an hour to live, Potter. Not just to stay alive. You can use that time to look for an antidote, if you're your heart so desires."  
  
"What? In this forest?" He sat himself up. Another flash of pain. "I know absolutely nothing of this forest, Malfoy, how much more what resides in it. This place is useless to me and even more so every element that is here. And don't criticize my mentality of things. This is my body, not yours. I know that I'm dying, and you've just confirmed it. So leave me to my grave before I dig up yours."  
  
"Which would unfortunately ruin my chances of helping you."  
  
"As if you care."  
  
"As if you don't."  
  
Harry sputtered. "You probably don't know anything, anyway. Why would I even bother to trust you? You'd probably just use it as an advantage to kill me faster."  
  
"Why would I want to do that?"  
  
"Because you are a Malfoy, and Malfoy's are heartless." Harry didn't know where he was getting his strength to keep on talking like that; he didn't even know why he was talking.  
  
But Draco knew. He saw it in Harry's bloodshot eyes. He was in a state of delirium. The poison had already reached his brain. Draco blew through his fingers without reluctance, sending a sharp whistle that was carried through the seemingly still air. The sound that reverberated across the trees summoned thundering hooves and a black beast that emerged from the forest's noonday shadows.  
  
Harry had to blink more than once to recognize the distinct shape of a horse. A single hoof pounded on the ground impatiently as it waited for instructions.  
  
"Kneel," was Draco's whispered command, and the horse obediently did.  
  
Harry was too dizzy to marvel at the animal's obedience, and too weak to even feel Draco's arms wrap tightly around him, dragging him on the ground and onto the horse. He could only wonder why  
  
Draco didn't just carry him, while he could have easily lifted the other boy in his arms.  
  
Maybe he's also weak, Harry thought, unaware that he had spoken out loud.  
  
The statement gave Draco a reason to flinch, and another reason to ignore Harry's pain as he rode swiftly into the heart of it all.  
  
Harry groaned every time his stomach hit hard against the horse's back, which was unfortunately not infrequent, with Draco grinning ever so slightly every time he did. And the last thing Harry could see was the ground. It turned into a streak of brown blur just in front of him as they rode on, as he ignored the silence, as he ignored the pain.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco stood by him in silence, watching, waiting, as the unconscious Boy Who Lived lay upon the soft satin bed in deep slumber. Overlooking past the shadows of the four-poster bed, he could see the sun waking in an early morn. Sunlight filtered slowly through the crystal windows of the palace, shedding light and warmth on Harry's pallid features. Draco wasn't sure, but he thought that he could detect a hint of a smile playing across Harry's lips.  
  
He wondered then what the unconscious Boy could possibly be dreaming of. But, then again, he didn't want to know.  
  
"Harry, Harry, Harry," he taunted, "what is it now that's in that sick little mind of yours, hm?" Self-consciously checking his surroundings, and quickly making sure that he was indeed alone, he moved closer to the side of the bed, and sat himself gently upon the soft velvet covers. He glanced at the sleeping Boy ever so intently with gleaming gray eyes, and reached out, cupping either side of Harry's face with careful hands. "Perhaps… you wouldn't mind… sharing," he whispered, the last word an unfamiliar addition to his vocabulary. He took a deep breath, and leaned down.  
  
It was a light touch --- he made sure it was --- as he placed his forehead lightly just above the fading traces of Harry's most-abhorred lightning scar. It was a technique he had learned from his months of having stayed in the palace, a technique to read minds, and, if desired, dreams as well. The touch was something out of the necessary as he had been informed; but, as he was also informed, the slightest touch could also enhance the connection between two subjects, and would also require less effort than without it. Draco was not someone who would give so much effort to one thing as trifle as this, which is why he most preferred having physical contact.  
  
However, it was something he shouldn't have done.  
  
Sure enough, as he reached out into Harry's mind with his own, flashes and tidbits of Harry's dream came to him in an unstoppable stream from scenes of the absurd to the wonderful. He was flying at warp speed in a tunnel of memories, catching evasive glimpses of Hogwarts, Hermione, Ron and everyone else he knew of and didn't.  
  
Draco was finally satisfied, realizing that this was not what he had come for, thinking that he had already seen enough of it, and prepared himself to pull out…  
  
… but couldn't.  
  
Something else was taking control. It was something he knew beyond his reach, beyond his restrain. Draco grasped at its presence, trying to figure out the source of the energy that was slowly binding him to his enemy. He assumed that it was Harry taking revenge on him for having invaded his thoughts. On the other hand, it couldn't be Harry, because Harry wasn't capable of anything such as what he has never heard of. The force that bound them was strong, stronger than either of them could hope to be. It was taking them to a deeper level of spirituality, where Draco knew was Harry's soul.  
  
A jolt of panic hit him, so hard that it brought back some feeling into his numb hands and face, though he was yet unable to move them. He could vaguely feel the tingling warmth of Harry's rapid breath intermingling with his own in a simultaneous manner that told him that they were breathing as one.  
  
The pulling force at once became stronger still, and he was moving faster, the memories in the tunnel wall becoming a single blur that spiraled about him like the current in a moving cyclone, leading him into the midst of a blinding light. When he opened his eyes, it was to see a lone figure clothed in black in a white background, his back turned to him, moving faster towards him. However, judging form the air current that passed him by quickly, he knew that he was the one moving towards it.  
  
The figure whirled swiftly on nimble feet at his approach, emerald eyes wide in surprise. And that was all he could see…  
  
…emerald light… Then came the whispered word… Draco…  
  
* * *  
  
"Draco." It came out as a single gasp.  
  
Draco's eyes flew wide open, with a sudden intake of breath. What met him in his wake was the precious glitter of green. And he pulled away, gasping for air. Sweat rolled down his cheek as he watched Harry sit up and put on his glasses, with the blanket sliding off his chest to reveal an abundance of naked flesh.  
  
Draco could only watch him in mute silence, with Harry reflecting his unspoken inquiry. What had happened just a few moments ago had been beyond the limits of their physical capacity, and they had both been unable to stop it nor keep it going. It left them helpless, knowing that there is a greater force beyond what they could ever imagine.  
  
However, that was not what rendered him immobile. What left him stunned was the feel of Harry's emotions slowly seeping into him like a flood of water that swept him away into another version of utter helplessness. He could feel the heartfelt pain of Harry's longing for love and acceptance, the overwhelming joy of having discovered where he could truly belong, the fear of having to face a deathless enemy coming to haunt him once again, the triumph, the loss, and in the midst of it all, shining like the hearth in the starkest of night, was the greatest of emotions, the greatest of love. Associated with that very thought came a vivid image of a bush-haired girl with charming hazel eyes and a loving smile to match, and feeling a great need to hold and be held by her.  
  
Draco felt all these one at a time, yet, strangely enough, all at once. It left him nauseated. He closed his eyes slowly for the nausea to pass. When it did, he opened them again, only to discover Harry's hand slowly reaching out to touch him.  
  
He knew what had to be done. All he needed to do was to turn away and leave. But he didn't. He just sat there, watching him, waiting for the moment to come.  
  
Harry placed the tip of a reluctant finger tenderly to the other boy's cheek, afraid that Draco might turn away and leave him to cope up with it alone.  
  
Cope up with what? he asked himself.  
  
The more knowledgeable side of him answered, To cope with what you're feeling.  
  
Though what is it he was feeling, he had left to find out another time. It was strange. Something he couldn't understand. All he did understand was that he had been inside Draco's mind, stripped away layer after layer of memories revealed to him in a continuous current that flooded him to the brink, then waking up with Draco impossibly close, and feeling the other boy's emotions throughout the course of his memories. And somehow, he could understand him better than he ever thought he could, finding more of himself in this blonde than anything else, the longing, the heavy need to be loved, to be accepted in a society that was ready to think the worst of him, yet finding no salvation from all that, not even from himself or from the people whom he had thought was his family.  
  
It was a great need, a necessity, to touch him after all he had seen, all he had felt, and all he could do was wish that he wouldn't turn away. Draco didn't. Harry was thankful, but he couldn't manage a smile, he couldn't manage a word. He just kept reaching out to him, until his hand fully covered the side of Draco's face, stroking the other boy's cheek with a gentle thumb. Harry stared right into the blonde boy's eyes, willing him to know that he understood exactly how he felt. Draco only closed his eyes, and leaned his face on Harry's hand, reveling in his presence and in his warmth.  
  
Harry didn't know what compelled him to, just that he did. It felt like the only thing to do at that very moment, the only right thing to do. Though somehow, deep inside he knew that it was what he had wanted all along. It was without hesitation, without reluctance, without menace or hate, that he leaned forward, slowly, steadily, drawing Draco's face closer to him just as he did, their breath intermingling with the other's in warm exaltation.  
  
Draco didn't oppose, couldn't resist, as Harry's warm mouth fell upon his own in a deep and searing kiss. He could only gasp, all enmity gone in a tight and longing embrace, the scars of war fading into memories, remembered, but not sought.  
  
* * *  
  
A/N: Yee… mush! Yee… YEE…! Mush! Mush! Mush! I hate mush! Wah! I need comments and criticism! Flamers are welcome to try! Just as long as the flames make sense and could help me improve! Yee! Mush! 


	6. The Kiss, The Comfort, The Soul

Never Too Late By: Artemis  
  
Chapter 6: The Kiss, The Comfort, The Soul  
  
Harry drew him closer still, locking him in an even tighter embrace. Draco felt no resistance, wanting ever more to be rid of the secret that plagued him. And yet, at the back of his mind, there cried an inevitable warning of danger, the danger of being stripped off until all secrets had been revealed.  
  
*And what of your father, * came the thought.  
  
*And what of my father? * his subconscious mind answered. But then, he needn't ask. For in that brief instant, it hit him with an almost painful awareness of an upcoming humiliation should this continue. And he realized why and what it was.  
  
His eyes flew open, and he drew back. If he had looked into Harry's surprised face that instant, he would have seen the penetrating disappointment that stretched across the other boy's features. But Draco didn't; he looked away, instead, his eyes averted, daring not to look. He knew what he would see, and the only thing he could do to wipe away that disappointment would be to kiss him again. But he couldn't. Damn it, he couldn't!  
  
Harry wasn't supposed to be in love with him! And neither was he supposed to return it! He was a Malfoy, for crying out loud! He was his father's son! His son! Not a daughter! A son!  
  
"I'm his son!" he cried aloud, wrenching himself from Harry's arms, and jumping to his feet as quickly as he could. "Stay away from me, Potter," he hissed. "Never touch me again, d'you hear? Never." His eyes were a steel gray.  
  
Harry tried to reach for him, then stopped, laying his hand limply by his side. All he could do was gaze mildly at the other boy, sweat trickling down his feverish cheeks. He couldn't understand why, but as the tension in the air lingered, Draco's actions angered him, and his gaze hardened. But.why? Shouldn't he be happy that Draco had pulled back? Why, he should be overjoyed! But, no! He wasn't overjoyed. He was mad. Outraged. How could Draco refuse him like that? Just wave him off as if nothing had happened or ever will.  
  
He glared at the other boy, his eyes as green as ice glaciers. He wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of an answer. He wasn't about to give him anything else but silence, and if it would come to that, another kiss.  
  
Seeing the sheer defiance in Harry's eyes, Draco was taken aback. What the hell was wrong with him! He was sure Harry knew he was a guy, but why in the abyss was he acting like that? Acting like an opposed lover about to kiss him?  
  
Draco placed his hand on his forehead, feeling a need to see if this wasn't all part of Harry's dream. Trying to prevent the urge to laugh. This wasn't a dream. The emotion was too raw, too real, too new. He shook his head, feeling himself drift to the edge of hysteria. "Stop it, Harry," he told him. "Don't be a fool. We're both men, you know that. There could be nothing between us." And then.  
  
. It hit him. And this time, he tilted his head and laughed.  
  
Harry only raised an eyebrow.  
  
Draco didn't see it. He only laughed, and laughed, and laughed.  
  
Now, he knew! Now he knew why Harry had acted the way he did. Maybe he had known all along, just refused to believe in it. This was all too hilarious! All too relieving! And he was relieved. Relieved that he had nothing to worry about after all.  
  
But this laughing. this laughing wasn't a good sign. This laughing was wrong. So he stopped, and gave the Boy Who Lived a menacing leer.  
  
Harry shifted his weight to his arm, waiting. Waiting. waiting for what? This wasn't supposed to be! He wasn't supposed to be staring at the bloody git like a lovesick puppy! He was supposed to be throwing Draco around by the fist by now. Why wasn't he getting up? Why wasn't he giving the damned idiot what he deserved? A good thrashing about would suffice. Damn it, he couldn't move! He didn't want to move! Why? Because Draco's damned laughter was melting him into a motionless puddle of sap and mush!  
  
He felt his heart beating hard against his chest, slowly making its way towards his throat. He willed it back down. This was not good.  
  
Draco glared down at him, his eyes filled with utter triumph.  
  
Harry's heart skipped a beat. Still he didn't move, but kept his face as placid as he could manage.  
  
"So, Potter," Draco barked. "Now that that clumsy oaf of a carrot had his way with Hermione, you decide to have your way with me. I can understand why you didn't go after the carrot himself, but I can't understand, however, why you'd come after me, and why I hadn't seen it before! I knew that something was wrong with you, Potter! I just didn't know what it was. Am I really that dashing that even you can't resist me? Or do you just have an attraction to people who look better than you?" He scratched his chin. "This makes me wonder why you didn't go and screw Voldemort."  
  
Tumbleweed.  
  
Silence.  
  
Draco frowned. What the hell ---! Not the slightest reaction. Not even the smallest "why-don't-you-screw-him" reply. Not even a change of expression! Not even a blink! Harry just kept staring at him! His eyes were the strangest color, a mild green, the green of the grass in a summer field, of newly refined emeralds whose glitter could yet be enhanced. And what was that, the twist in his face? Was that indifference? Was that lust? No!  
  
Neither of those could give the brightest jewels a brighter brilliance than what it was capable of. His features were too solemn, too sincere, too pure. This wasn't anything he liked. This wasn't anything he knew.  
  
*Don't let him get to you, Draco! * His mind screamed the warning, knowing fully well what would await him should he step forward.  
  
He stepped forward.  
  
"Damn it, Potter! Don't stare at me like that!"  
  
Harry stared.  
  
The silence enraged him. "Damn you!" he screamed. "Don't look at me like that! Never look at me like that! Do you hear me! I'm not going to be part of your sick fantasies, you understand, Potter! Screw someone else! Screw my father if you want, but never think of me! I don't want to have anything to do with you, you maniac!"  
  
Harry grinned. "Just look who's raving like a lunatic!"  
  
"Bastard."  
  
"We're not so different, then, are we?"  
  
Uncontrollably mad, Draco's hand shot forward, locking Harry's neck in its powerful grip.  
  
Big mistake.  
  
Harry caught Draco's wrist, then reached out for his shoulder, and thrust him down on the bed beside him. Harry leaned forward, devastatingly close, his breath a warm current that brushed across Draco's cheeks.  
  
Draco panicked, struggled to get up, but Harry kept him there, the smile still lingering on his lips, triumph glinting in his eyes. Harry moved with feline smoothness, his naked leg sidling over the waist of the motionless boy.  
  
Draco paled.  
  
"Well," Harry whispered, his lips touching the other boy's ear, "I guess the maniac's got the lunatic. Is that what you wanted?" He nudged his nose closer, trailing feather-light kisses down Draco's cheeks, and feeling them quiver ever so slightly. "What do you plan to do now?"  
  
Draco gritted his teeth. "Nothing."  
  
Harry drew back. "What?"  
  
Draco didn't look at Harry, only stared up into the curtains of the four- poster bed. "I said I planned to do nothing."  
  
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"  
  
"Why should I?" Draco's voice was calm, set, indifferent. "You're stronger than me. You're more powerful. More important. Why should I care? Why should anyone? I'm only just about to be bedded by the famous Boy Who Lived. Guess I should be flattered then, huh?" Draco gave a tiny grin.  
  
Harry watched him, speechless. He couldn't help but feel that he'd done something wrong. Wrong? What wasn't? He was just about to shag the little git! And what was more, it was a Malfoy git! What wasn't wrong with that!  
  
Harry ran his fingers through his hair, feeling an awkward tension building up within him, watching Draco as he lay there, arms spread at both sides, his breathing calm, his face placid, fixed in a look of sincere submission. Draco's gaze hadn't moved; they were still set on the crimson curtains that were draped above the bed.  
  
Something about this show of humility made Harry think of a virgin about to be sacrificed to the unmerciful god he had so worshipped. But Draco hadn't worshipped him. Draco had hated him, and hated him still, and maybe even more now with the knowledge of what he was about to do.  
  
What about him? Had he ever hated Draco? Of course, he did! The little brat had been causing him trouble the first time he'd laid his eyes on him! Of course, he hated him! Loathed him! As much as he loathed the family that had taken him in! Even more so!  
  
Maybe that was why he was doing this. Maybe this was the vengeance he had sought for. This would cause the insect's humiliation, give him cause to run to his father, and stay there. But in doing so, he would also give himself cause for humiliation. A mere touch would scar him for life, if he wasn't already. He remembered the kiss they'd just shared. Was there a scar?  
  
The feel of it lingered softly across his lips, an enduring taste of a mistake so profoundly made. Of a mistake he could not regret no matter how hard he tried. He looked down into the serene features of his enemy. Draco's eyes closed, another act of submission, of total abandon, a sign that all he could do now was to await the fate that was about to befall him.  
  
He reached out with his finger, touched the face, the smooth pallid face, beauteous beneath the stroke of his flesh, feminine compared to his own. Delicate, fragile, like a rose laid upon the ground ready to be trampled, ready to be crushed by unforgiving feet, by unforgiving fate, his silver- blond hair softer than a seraph's wings, luxurious gold, luxurious silver, a finer silk than silk itself. And the boy, a divine entity, incarnate of beauty, flesh of the fleshless, embodied soul.  
  
Still a man, not even a man. Only a boy. Always a boy. Never anything else.  
  
He kissed Draco once more on the lips, feeling the other boy cringe at the touch, before standing aside. Draco hesitated for a while, but eventually freed himself from the blanket's grasp. He made for the door, and without turning, quietly said, "I'll send someone for food." Then, he was gone.  
  
Harry didn't expect to see him for some time.  
  
* * *  
  
"What happened? You look all flushed."  
  
Draco met the golden eyes of a young teenage girl. "Frayn," he whispered in greeting. She stood by the side of the central fountain, her silver-black hair as long as it had ever been, cascading down her back to caress the ground in their graceful waves.  
  
He remembered the first time he'd found her. In the shape of the black cat. He'd seen her the second time in the forest just before the bear/wolf's attack, then a third time, the first he'd seen her as a human, then the fourth after he'd left Harry to fend for himself. He hadn't left her side ever since.  
  
Dracaena emerged from behind a cluster of rosebushes. Though she was Frayn's younger sister, she was the taller one, her golden hair a contrast to Frayn's black, hazel-green eyes shining with irrepressible mischief. "I think he looks pale," she commented, a reason forming in her devious mind.  
  
"He looks thoroughly kissed to me," said another.  
  
Draco started at the sound of the voice, as Clara, the youngest of the three sisters came into view from within the shadows of the palace. The blond boy could still recall the terrifying event of their first meeting: her as a hungry black grizzly, and him as a yellow-livered chicken running from the hungry black grizzly, or at least, trying to.  
  
She was inches shorter than Dracaena, though slightly taller than Frayn. Gold-red eyes stared him down in scrutiny, a half-smile forming on her full red lips, lingering like a snarl. Draco no longer feared her. And he never should have. As a bear, Clara had come after Harry, not him. The reason, he never would have guessed.  
  
After he'd deserted Potter, he'd found his way towards the Palace of the Suns, where these three were paid the highest of respects, even worshipped. Here, he was well cared for and respected. Here, he had friends.  
  
They stood beside him as he sat on the walls of the fountain, the water falling behind him like a miniature waterfall. A calming hand rested on his shoulders. "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," she stated.  
  
Draco nodded.  
  
"But it is often that that is when you have to."  
  
It was a soft reprimand, but he knew what it meant. However, this was something he alone could take care of. It was something he alone should know. No one else.  
  
* * *  
  
Well-fed, well-bathed and well-dressed in foreign robes, Harry was ready to take on anything. Whether it be a black bear, a black wolf or an extremely beautiful naked girl, ha could handle them without the slightest fear. But then again, if it came to facing a certain blonde boy with those mesmerizing gray eyes, he was ready to crawl beneath a rock.  
  
He brought a tentative finger to his lips. The soft texture of Draco's lips lingered there, sending chills of want down his spine at the well- remembered taste of Draco's mouth and the sheer pleasure of feeling the contact. Skin on skin. It had been electrifying, the touch, a highly elating sensation that had kept him in thought for the past hours.  
  
Harry breathed. Even the mere thought of it kept him stimulated. The longing, the lust, everything was new to him. Everything but the guilt. The guilt of having marred the perfect naivete of one so innocent. Innocent? Was Draco still innocent? Would having been brought up by a master of the Dark Arts leave someone as vulnerable as Draco still as innocent as a babe on a cradle?  
  
The memory surged through his mind, the kiss, the touch, the seduction, they were all there. The regret, the pain, and the trust and the innocence lost. He remembered the image of Draco's eyes purge his memories. The hard steel gray was in itself a but a mere memory as he recalled the fire die in those eyes leaving them vulnerable, dull, lifeless. His mind's eye watched it in utter pain and regret, over and over and over again.  
  
"Reveling in your sick fantasies, Potter?" The voice was cold, piercing. It sliced through Harry's heart. Draco stood by the door, a figure of impossible beauty, a figure of impossible frost. "Save it when we're home. You can screw as many men as you want. Hopefully, you'd leave Filch untouched."  
  
The guilt evaporated like a drop of cologne. "Shut up, Malfoy. You don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Oh. Don't I?" Draco's eyes glittered dangerously. "An hour ago, you had your tongue in my throat. Now tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. Shut up!" Draco cut him off before Harry could utter a syllable. "I don't want your lame excuses! Don't try to contradict what we both know to be true, Potter. It's useless." The last sentence came out as a hiss. Draco breathed, calming. "Now, come. Their majesties do not take well any man's tardiness."  
  
Harry followed him outside, seething. "The problem with you, Malfoy, is that you think I give everyone equal attention."  
  
"Isn't that one of your good sides?" Draco taunted.  
  
"Not when it comes to that. You know I won't, not to any other man."  
  
Draco stopped in his tracks. Faced him. "Oh? Just me then?" It wasn't a question. It was something more like drawing out a confession.  
  
Harry faced him squarely, not knowing when in his life he could ever have been as honest as he was about to be now. He sighed. "Yes. Just you."  
  
The expression in Draco's features was something that made Harry catch his breath. There was hatred, there was anger, and there was loathing. But that was only half of what was revealed there. The half that he could describe. The other half was the one thing that made his heart jump to his throat. The other half was filled with emotions not different to his own, or perhaps they were emotions that only seemed to be the same because they were the magnified at an immense magnitude that overwhelmed him. There, he saw anguish, there he saw regret. There he saw the makings of a tortured soul set to explode in the time it was meant to be set free. There he saw the utter torment of longing for something he could never have, of a hope that he could never hope to abide, of a wish that he had yet to gain yet perhaps never, ever, will. There he saw the wretched flames dying all over again, there he saw the spirit of a living, breathing nightmare plaguing the writhing creature it had clenched within the massive claws of a world that hated it for being what it was.  
  
There, he saw Draco in all things that made him Draco. There, he saw Draco.  
  
Harry reached out. A habit. Draco shipped his hand away. "Don't touch me. Never touch me again." With that, the blonde turned on his heels and continued down the path.  
  
Had Draco realized what Harry had seen? Apparently not. It was then that Harry had the mind enough to look around. He was in a castle. 


End file.
